translation by Patty Crane
Night Travel
It’s teeming under us. Trains depart.
Hotel Astoria trembles.
A glass of water by the bedside
shines into the tunnels.
He dreamed he was imprisoned on Svalbard.
The planet rumbled as it turned.
Glittering eyes passed over the ice.
The miracles’ beauty existed.
Contributor’s notes: Tomas Tranströmer
Contributor’s notes: Patty Crane
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